Mr. Nothing

I was maybe a little older than seven years old when I saw my first ghost. It was early Easter morning. Two or three in the morning. It was cold outside, so I had wrapped myself in the warmest blankets in the house. I was startled awake by a sudden draft, so this came to a surprise to my young mind. My blankets were still covering my whole body, including my head. So, I peeked out from under the covers towards the window. Nothing. It was locked tightly shut. I turned to my other side and peeked out towards the door. There was a man in white standing there, watching me. I quickly covered my head with the blankets. I waited several minutes and checked again. He was still there. I did this several times, finding that he was watching me each time. Finally I gathered the courage and attentively said, "Hello." He nodded, a smile visible on his shadowed face.

Freaked out, I covered my face back up and waited before looking at him again. He was gone. I sat up and looked around my room and checked the hallway. Nothing. He was nowhere to be seen. I closed my door quietly and slept peacefully until my parents woke me up to check and see what the Easter Bunny had left me and my sister (who was going to be three that June).

I told my dad what I had seen that night and he said it was just a dream. I told my mom and she said it was my overactive imagination. When my sister was twelve and I was seventeen, I told her and she said she had seen him, too. She said, that he's very nice and used to play games with her. She also said that she called him "Mr. Nothing" and that he liked to walk down our hallway on rainy days, making the floor squeak. She told me that she hasn't seen him since she was six or seven years old, but she knows that he's still there. "He likes to protect us." she said to me. I knew that it was true. Whenever I was frightened or paranoid, a familiar coolness would set in and the fear or paranoia would vanish.

My sister and I talk to him sometimes, when either of us is home alone. My sister, who is now a stereotypical blonde, recently told me that she had seen him again. "He's still here, you know." she told me. I nodded. I had caught flashes of white in reflections from windows and mirror and from quick glances past things. I heard him walk through the hallway and knock on the roof. And I've felt him watching and protecting me.

I often wonder who Mr. Nothing really is. I wonder about his family. I wonder if he had any daughters like me and my sister. I wonder if he likes to write, like I do.

I don't know much about him or his life, but I do know that every time I return home and say; "I'm home, Mr. Nothing!" He'll reply with three knocks on the roof.